


Different

by geekmama



Series: Time of the Season [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Fluff, Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 12:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10921467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: ...“I told you girls are different,” came a very familiar, amused voice.He looked up toward the door and there was John, sporting a crooked smile...____________________________For the First Kiss prompt for May 16th of Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017, with thanks to the creators of ‘Aspects of Love’ for the verse.





	Different

**Author's Note:**

> For the 'If' prompt.
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****_I want to be the first man you remember  
_ _I want to be the last one you forget  
_ _I want to be the one you’ll always turn to  
_ _I want to be the one you won’t regret…_

 

This birth had been easier than either of the boys’ had been -- “What did I tell you?” Mummy had said to Molly after each protracted, agonizing instance, and with a sidelong glare at Sherlock that he hadn’t bothered to refute, since it wasn’t something one could reasonably expect ever to live down. But little Daisy’s mother was still very tired for all that, and now that she’d given her daughter a good feeding, both his girls looked to be ready for a nap. 

“She should be changed, can you do it?” Molly asked, her eyes already half closed. 

Sherlock was there in an instant, carefully lifting the swaddled, sated morsel of femininity from Molly’s arms. Molly was smiling sleepily up at him, and she was so lovely, his brave and clever wife, that he had to bend and place a tender kiss on her forehead. “I love you,” he murmured. The words came as easily as breathing now, yet each time he uttered them he was reminded of that first time: his heart cracking open, light pouring in… 

He would have been lost, if not for that love that had made him human. 

Molly said, “I love you, too,” and let her eyes drift closed, the picture of trust and contentment. 

And he was smiling like an idiot. 

But really, he _would_ have been an idiot if he hadn’t been smiling, he reflected, as he carried the baby to the changing table that was tucked into a corner of the room. The place was more homelike than he’d expected, and the midwives that staffed the birthing centre had thus far been cheerful, brisk, and efficient, making the experience almost pleasant. As pleasant as possible, at any rate. But now the worst was over and it was time for some fun. 

It was rather like receiving the best Christmas gift ever, he reflected as he gently unwrapped the pink bundle. Daisy gave a small, huffing sigh, but was otherwise too milk-drunk to object either to the cooler air or the lack of restraints, and as Sherlock freed her from her gown he was able, for the first time, to look his fill at the perfect little body, the delicate hands with their tiny, pearly nails, the dainty feet. She was only nineteen inches long, his Daisy, where Will and Jon had each been twenty-one, and her faint fuzz of hair was distinctly strawberry blond. 

“You’ll be very like your mum, Miss Holmes, I’d lay good money on it,” he told her as he expertly changed her nappy -- and how gratifying it was to be proficient at the task, rather than clumsy and hesitant as he had felt with newborn Will five and a half years ago. “And hopefully,” he continued, “you’ll have sense enough to be like her in all ways, not just in appearance. She’s the best woman I know, completely worthy of respect and emulation as well as the love you owe her as your mum. But there, you’re a sensible girl, and won’t cause her a moment’s anxiety, will you now, sweetheart?” 

Having completed his task, he bent over her, the tiny, pleasingly plump body bracketed by his forearms, his hands looking enormous loosely curved around her head. Her face was remarkably pretty, even so soon after the trauma of birth, and her exquisite lips seemed to twitch against a contented smile. 

A feeling of solemnity came over him, a weight of love, a welling of protective instinct that was somehow new and strange though Daisy was their third child. He straightened a little, took each of the tiny feet between forefinger and thumb and tenderly kissed each in turn, sealing a silent vow. 

“I told you girls are different,” came a very familiar, amused voice. 

He looked up toward the door and there was John, sporting a crooked smile, and seven year old Rosie, looking fit to burst. 

“Can we see her?” Rosie said in an eager whisper. 

Sherlock, not quite trusting his voice as yet, summoned them with a jerk of his head. The Watsons hurried over to worship. 

“Oh, she’s lovely!” Rosie breathed. 

“Molly did a fine job,” John agreed. “Have you decided on her name, yet?” 

Sherlock straightened and cleared his throat. “Her name,” he managed to say quite steadily, “Is Margaret Rosamund Holmes.” 

Rosie looked up quickly. “ _Really?_ ” 

“Yep. We’ll call her Daisy, though, since obviously there can be only one Rosie in our family.” 

John was grinning, and gave his daughter a hug. 

And Sherlock turned back to Daisy, who was stirring a bit. “Time to get you swaddled again, ma’am,” he told her, and proceeded to do just that. Rosie squeezed up next to him, fascinated, so he explained the procedure in detail to her. 

John, however, had looked toward the bed and saw that Daisy’s mother had opened her eyes. As he walked over, she greeted him with a weary smile.  John said, “Excellent work there, Molly. She’s a keeper.” 

“She is!” Molly agreed. “Did Sherlock tell you her name?” 

“He did. I doubt Rosie will ever get over that.” 

“She’s my baby sister,” Rosie declared, turning to them as Sherlock lifted the neatly wrapped infant and carried her back to her mother. “And wait until Will and Jon hear I saw her first!” 

Sherlock groaned. “And so it begins.” 

John laughed. “The sibling rivalry? Or the love?” 

“They rather go hand in hand, don’t they?” Sherlock said, with hard-won philosophy. With some reluctance, he gave Daisy back to her mother, who tucked her into bed beside her. 

“They do go hand in hand,” agreed John, wincing as he thought of his own sister. “And if anyone would know it would be a Holmes. Fortunately you keep a Hooper about you. They’re sensible creatures, so that should help.” 

“I expect it will,” said Sherlock, and, very much in agreement with this sentiment, bent and sealed his wife’s pleased smile with a kiss. 

 

****_I want to be the first man you remember  
_ _The very first to sweep you off your feet  
_ _I want to be the one you always turn to  
_ _The first to make your young heart miss a beat…_

 

~.~


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